


just a little patience

by rozurashii, the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Full Shift Werewolves, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Fanart, Kinda, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Jennifer Blake, Mentioned Kate Argent, Nobility, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Sterek Reverse Bang, Sterek Reverse Bang 2018, Witch Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/pseuds/rozurashii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: The woods were deep and shadowed, dark in a way that had nothing to do with day or night. Stiles could feel the weight of a malevolent force dragging at his spark. It was an ugly sensation, making his skin crawl and his stomach flip uneasily. This was it. The outcome that he had fought so hard to avoid. And yet, he had failed. He had failed to protect the land from the evil creeping through the trees, sinking poisoned tendrils into everything it touched.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Those Who Wait [Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333999) by [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/pseuds/rozurashii). 



> this piece was written as part of the 2018 sterek reverse bang! the story was inspired by a mini comic drawn by the lovely and talented rozurashii that you can find [HERE!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333999)
> 
> since it takes a village to write a fic, i'd like to thank some people. first, all of the kudos to the world's greatest beta [@pororeindeer,](https://pororeindeer.tumblr.com/) who somehow manages to take my word soup and make it legible. also, a shout-out to [@softpeachss,](http://softpeachss.tumblr.com/) who pretty much held my hand and kept me focused at the end because deadlines are not my friend. i love you both! ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> and finally thanks to the mods for running an impressively smooth event!

It was nearing midday by the time Stiles pushed his way into his shop. Perhaps it was bad business practice to leave the small cottage unattended for half the day, but there were certain herbs that could only be gathered in the mornings. His dad always said he should hire someone to help.

Swinging his full knapsack onto the workbench, Stiles backtracked to collect the note someone had slipped underneath the door while he was away. He smiled at Melissa’s familiar scrawl.

 

_Sorry to have missed you!_

_I was wondering if you’d thought any more about that cold remedy we discussed._

_Summer is ending soon and unfortunately that means more work for the both of us._

_Also your father said to remind you of our address._

_Maybe stop by sometime this week?_

_– Mel_

Stiles snorted. He’d just had lunch with his dad two days ago. But it was nice to know he was missed. It’d been about a year since he moved out of the village, finally admitting that the tiny flat above the tailor’s shop had been cramped when it was just him and Scott living there. With the addition of Kira, it was nearly impossible to breathe without tripping over someone else.

Here, he had all the space he needed to pace along the crowded shelves lining the cottage walls, pondering Melissa’s other request. Autumn was fast approaching and, with it, cooler temperatures and more sickness. Pausing by the workbench, he carefully emptied the contents of his knapsack.

After setting aside the herbs that he still needed to hang to dry, Stiles gathered the necessary supplies. He’d start with a blend of ginger and turmeric that could be steeped into tea and protect against sickness. Then perhaps a second variety made of nettles or elderberry for those who had already succumbed.

The familiar motions were calming, allowing his mind to wander as he worked. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows, filtering through the tangle of plants perched on the windowsills. The sharp smell of freshly ground ginger hung in the air.

Once the individual ingredients were prepared, Stiles stirred the mixture and focused, infusing the completed tea with a simple protection spell. Hopefully, it would be strong enough to keep most sicknesses at bay.

Satisfied with his work, Stiles crossed the room to one of the bookcases, letting his fingers trail along a shelf, past books and crystals and various trinkets, until he found the jar he was looking for. Perhaps his organizational system – or lack thereof – could use some work. But, for now, he felt the comfortable chaos suited him.

Humming quietly, Stiles labeled the jar with a stick of charcoal. Then he scribbled down the ingredients and recommended preparation and dosage instructions for Melissa. To finish off, he tied the scrap bit of paper around the jar’s neck with a bit of twine.

With that task completed, Stiles had a brief moment to contemplate what he was going to do next. However, before he could decide on something, Stiles felt the familiar hum of someone crossing the wards along the perimeter of his clearing. Though they were intended to alert him to potential danger, the notice was also useful for knowing when to set out two mugs and put the kettle on.

By the time the bell above the door jingled, the water had reached a boil. Stiles continued sorting through his embarrassingly large selection of tea, automatically setting aside the lavender and lemon balm blend that Derek preferred.

“What do you need, Lord Hale?” Stiles asked, without looking up from where he was measuring tea into the strainer.

Derek moved out of the doorway, lupine grace making him surprisingly light on his feet. “Nothing that can be found in your shop.”

“Liar,” Stiles said, keeping his tone teasing. He poured the hot water over the tea strainer, watching the gently curling steam.

“Nothing that is for sale then.” This time, the levity in Derek’s voice sounded almost genuine.

“You’re in time for tea again.” As if Stiles hadn’t waited for him. “Sit down before you fall over.”

Derek sighed, the defeated sound one that Stiles would never grow accustomed to hearing. “Will you truly not consent to marry me?”

Stiles swallowed hard, refusing to turn from the steeping tea and keeping his hands busy with putting away the containers.

He set one fragrant mug in front of Derek before sinking into the opposite chair with the other.  There were so many words fighting to be said. Words that could put Derek's mind at ease, but Stiles managed to keep them in. Instead, he sat quietly, fingers tracing the familiar grain of the wooden tabletop.

“I could make you so happy.”

“Please, Derek.” Stiles leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around his mug. At the use of his name, Derek looked up, finally meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I need you to trust me.”

“I do.”

The words came immediately, and Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to know they rang true. Somehow, he had earned Derek’s trust. Even after years of companionship, the thought still sent warmth blooming through his veins.

“Then just give me a little more time.”

“I would wait for you forever, you know,” Derek said, the earnestness on his face almost too much to bear.

Stiles cleared his throat and glanced away, feeling oddly exposed. “For both of our sakes, I hope you don’t have to.”

Spell broken, both men turned to their tea. The silence stretched long, disturbed only by the crackle of the fire and the droning roar of the river.

Eventually, Stiles reached across the table to link their fingers. “Tell me what’s new in town. How is Erica?”

“Much better now. Her shoulder should be back to normal sometime this week.”

Stiles hummed, pleased. He’d been surprised to discover that even werewolves were susceptible to overuse injuries. And Erica, the captain of the watchmen, definitely spent too much time training. She was preparing to eventually take over Stiles’ father’s position as sheriff.

“I’ll stop by to check on her next time I’m in the village.” And maybe Boyd would feed him again.

Derek chuckled as if reading his mind. “If you asked, I’m sure Boyd would gladly keep you buried in bread for the rest of your life.”

Boyd, along with his grandmother and younger sister, owned the village bakery, and Stiles would very happily spend the rest of his days surrounded by the smell of fresh bread.

“I didn’t do it for the bread.” Even though Stiles _knew_ that Derek knew what he meant, he still had to reassure himself that they were both on the same page. “Erica is pack.”

Derek’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Stiles’ hand gently as if to say _message received_. His betas were the closest thing Derek had to a family and, as far as Stiles was concerned, that made them Stiles’ to protect as well.

“So, does that mean you and Isaac can be in the same room without causing an incident?” Derek asked, lips curling into a teasing smirk.

Stiles threw his head back and laughed. “Not a chance. Isaac can go right ahead and eat his fancy shoes.” Because Isaac was a cobbler with a barbed tongue, who managed to clash with Stiles at every opportunity.

The smirk faded into a small smile as Derek began to trace along Stiles’ fingers, hesitating over the small scrapes, courtesy of the morning’s adventures. Which reminded him of something he saw on his morning walk.

“Wait! I found this rock I wanted to show you.”

Derek huffed in amusement, dropping Stiles’ hand so he could jump up and grab it from the workbench.

“Here.” Stiles dropped the heavy black stone into Derek’s lap. To him, it felt grounding. Like stability and balance and protection. But he had no idea how that translated to someone without magic.

After a careful inspection, Derek passed the rock back to Stiles. “What’s its use?”

Stiles grinned, hefting it in his hand. “I don’t know yet.” He hadn’t had a chance to consult with any of his books, but it was always exciting to discover something unfamiliar.

Eventually, the shadows crept long across the table and Derek sighed. He’d been doing better, giving himself two afternoons per week to wander his land and to visit the shop. But Stiles could tell the burden still weighed heavily upon him.

Getting to his feet, Stiles gathered the empty mugs and set them in the basin. He walked Derek to the door and stood quietly on the worn dirt walkway outside the shop, waiting for Derek to sort out his thoughts and find his words. The hens were pecking at the ground nearby while Lola dozed contentedly, tail lazily flicking at flies.

“Your father misses you.” Derek didn’t look at Stiles, fixing his gaze on the river instead.

Stiles sighed. “He knows I’m not leaving.” The village was less than a twenty-minute walk, yet Stiles liked it here, with his plants and his books. Plus, he wasn’t excited about third-wheeling his dad or his friends.

Then, so quietly Stiles almost didn’t catch it, Derek said, “I miss you.”

“Hey,” Stiles reached out to cup Derek’s face, stubble prickly under rough fingertips, and turned his head so their eyes locked. “I’m right here.”

Giving into the wolf instincts, Derek nuzzled into his hand. Stiles’ heart did something complicated and he cleared his weirdly-tight throat.

“I’m not going anywhere. And I promise I’m working on it.”

Derek tilted his head to brush a kiss against Stiles’ palm. “I know you’re doing your best. I just wish you’d let me help.”

“I’m sorry. But not this time.”

Stepping away, Derek’s face closed off until he was no longer Derek but Lord Hale. “Until next time, Master Stilinski.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, swooping in to shatter Derek’s façade with a quick peck on the cheek. Sure enough, the tips of Derek’s ears were red as he turned and swung up onto his black horse. Lola was once again awake and eager to run. Stiles raised a hand in farewell and watched the two until they disappeared over the crest of the ridge.

The shop seemed strangely empty when Stiles finally stepped back inside. He took the time to hang up the herbs he’d gathered and set the strange black crystal in the center of the table. Unfortunately, trying to pinpoint what it was would have to wait until later. Stiles had other problems to address first.

He prepared a simple meal and settled down to think some more, mentally going over and cataloguing each detail of his strange dreams. After only a few moments of attempting meditation, Stiles decided to seek out another opinion. Luckily, he knew someone who was also intimately familiar with visions and premonitions.

When he finally located Lydia, the renowned scientist and scribe, she was sitting on the ground and weaving bits of grass into a sleeping Scott’s hair, while Allison and Kira trained nearby. Stiles couldn’t refrain from poking Scott in the side, just to watch him startle awake with a yelp. Lydia frowned at him disapprovingly as her hard work was ruined by Scott tackling him to the ground.

“Is this a social call?” Lydia asked, eyes following Allison’s movements with vague interest.

Although she spent her days as an atilliator, Allison was extremely skilled in hand-to-hand combat. In fact, she was probably one of the few humans who could hold their own against a kitsune. Which was perfect because Kira needed a training partner.

Stiles sat up, dusting off his elbows. “Not really.”

Lydia sighed. “I know we’ve already beaten this point into the ground, but _you aren’t supposed to talk about visions of the future_.”

“That’s only with people who are _in_ the visions.” Stiles protested. “You aren’t going to try to change the outcome.”

Lydia pursed her lips, not rising to the bait. Really, magic users were cautioned to not speak to anyone. And _especially_ not to try and change the outcome. Which Stiles was definitely not doing at all, what?

“I mean obviously I told _you_. You’re the expert on weird visions and shit.”

“And I was just there,” Scott said, smirking.

“You just have bad manners. Nobody told you to eavesdrop.” Which immediately devolved into some more wrestling in the grass, just like when they were little. Well, more like them tussling while Lydia pretended not to be amused. It wasn’t long until Scott had him pinned, perched on his chest while Stiles panted for breath.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You could’ve put up a ward. What is the point of having magic if you don’t _use_ it.”

“Hey! I can’t use magic for everything! It’s exhausting and downright-”

“-lazy,” all three finished in unison, Scott and Lydia were well-used to the excuse.

Stiles grumbled and put up a sound-muffling ward. He’d taken to wearing that particular charm almost constantly. One of the perils of dealing with werewolves.

“So, you’ve left the poor man hanging?” Lydia looked unimpressed. “He’s either too trusting or a fool.”

“Nah.” Scott flopped down, head landing in Lydia’s lap. “Derek loves him. He trusts him too, but mainly it’s the love thing.”

Stiles could feel his cheeks coloring at Scott’s conviction.

“Still,” Lydia toyed with the ends of Scott’s hair. “You couldn’t tell him anything? Not necessarily specifics but just that you’ve had visions? I’m sure he’d understand.”

Stiles dropped his voice, looks away. “He’d want to know what they’re about. And you know I can’t say no to him.”

“I dunno, seems like you’re doing just fine saying no to his proposal.” Scott had his eyes closed, face tipped back toward the fading sun.

Lydia tweaked his nose, making him squawk and flail in protest. “Can you tell us?”

“Wolves. Hale wolves.” Unmistakable with their full shift and black coats. “And fire.”

A shadowed look crossed Lydia’s face at the mention of the fire and the Hales. She’d been staying with the Stilinski’s that night while her parents, wealthy merchants, were traveling. Stiles had been there when she discovered that the banshee in her blood wasn’t as dormant as her parents led her to believe.

Scott caught the hand resting on his forehead and held it gently. Stiles leaned into her side, trying not to relive that particular memory.

“And you know these are visions of the future? Not just the past?”

“They aren’t dreams. I’ve narrowed it down that much. And Derek is roughly the same age he is now. And so am I.”

Lydia hummed, clearly thinking. “I can check with my sources, I can’t guarantee we’ll find anything though.”

“And I’ll ask Deaton,” Scott said, quickly adding, “-discretely! I’ll ask him discretely.”

Stiles chuckled, already feeling lighter. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Please. The sooner you two get married, the sooner I don’t have to deal with either of you moping.” Lydia tossed her hair back over her shoulder in a practiced move.

Scott sat up, brightening when he saw Kira approaching. “I love you, but Lydia’s got a point.”

“Alright, I take it back. You two are the worst.” Stiles clasped the charm around his neck, dropping the sound-muffling wards, and hopped to his feet. “Come around for dinner sometime?”

Kira slung an arm around Scott’s waist. “What’s this? You’re going to cook for us? Can we go now?”

Stiles grinned at her. Even if they hadn’t lived together for long, he still enjoyed Kira’s company. “Tell you what, give me at least an afternoon’s notice and I’ll make enough for leftovers.”

“You know, if things don’t work out between you and Derek, you are more than welcome to come back and live with us,” she teased.

“Oh, I don’t know. Lydia and I have a much better library. You could come cook for us and Scott and Kira can come visit.” Allison reached down to offer her wife a hand up.

“As flattering as both offers are, I think I’ll head home to _my_ library and hopefully plan for a spring wedding.”

“Well. If you change your mind, you know where we live.” Allison tugged at Lydia’s hand, bringing her close enough to press a kiss to her temple.

Lydia just smiled and shook her head at Allison and Kira’s antics. Then, with a more serious expression, she turned to Stiles. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Stiles wished them all a good evening, narrowly avoiding getting his ribs crushed in a bear hug from Scott, before beginning the trek to his cottage. Just as the last traces of the sun faded from the horizon and the moonlight painted everything silver, Stiles caught sight of a familiar shape tracking his movements. The wolf’s black pelt blended into the backdrop of night, yet the glowing red eyes were unmistakable.

“Back again?” Stiles asked, barely raising his voice to carry over the sound of rushing water.

The wolf, of course, said nothing. But it kept pace with Stiles as he reached the cottage.

“You coming in?”

The wolf leaned against Stiles’ leg and he breathed a little easier, pressing a hand to the worn wood of the door and feeling the familiar tug in his chest as the lock clicked open.

He went about his nightly routine, clearing away the remains of his evening research and checking over his plants. The wolf was a silent shadow, trailing after him as he adjusted the glass jars along the windowsill, imbuing their contents with his will and leaving them to soak in the moonlight.

When he was content to leave everything else the way it was, he climbed the ladder up to the cottage loft. He pulled his loose sweater over his head and when he turned, the wolf was already in his bed, nose tucked under the pillow.

“I still don’t know how you manage the ladder with all those extra legs.”

The wolf huffed, not even bothering to open its eyes.

Stiles smiled, slipping off the noise-muffling charm and replacing it with a selenite crystal. It was one of the last charms his mother made for him and he never slept without it. Even now, he could feel the imprint of her magic in the stone, sending tendrils of calm and serenity to soothe his frayed nerves.

Kicking out of his trousers he slid beneath the covers and buried his face in the wolf’s soft fur. He smiled as a rough tongue dragged along his jawline.

“I love you too, big guy. Now try to get some sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ The woods were deep and shadowed. Dark in a way that had nothing to do with day or night. Stiles could feel the weight of a malevolent force dragging at his own spark. It was an ugly sensation, making his skin crawl and his stomach flip uneasily. _

_ A howl split the syrupy gloom, clearing Stiles’ mind for a moment. He was just an observer; a passenger in his own body watching the future unfold. The other him, the one who belonged in this time and place, was a mess of terror and sick anticipation. _

_ This was it. The outcome that he had fought so hard to avoid. And yet, he had failed. He had failed to protect the land from the evil creeping through the trees, sinking poisoned tendrils into everything it touched. _

_ But if Stiles was anything, he was persistent. He may not have been able to stop the formation of the sickness, but he could minimize the damage. _

_ Taking a deep breath, the other him focused and reached out, hand clasped around a heavy stone. One that he vaguely recognized. Stiles could feel Derek somewhere nearby, trying to get to him. There were other wolves with him. Hale wolves, which made no sense. Unless… _

_ But there was no time to ponder what-ifs. Stiles let the stone fall to the ground. He wouldn’t need it anymore. His magic was weak, compared to whatever this evil was. No focus item would be able to help. _

_ If only he could find the center. Find the center and burn it out at the heart. But the other him was already far ahead of that plan. He crouched on the ground and dug his fingers into the earth, feeling for the epicenter of the darkness. _

_ It tore at him, trying to extinguish the warmth of his magic. But Stiles was ready. He fanned the small flame, willing it to burn brighter, stronger, before pushing it outward and feeling it catch against the evil. _

_ He held on for a moment longer, straining against the growing inferno of his spark and trying hard not to think of his dad. Or of Scott, Melissa, Lydia, Kira, Allison, the pack. But he especially tried – and failed – not to think of Derek. _

_ Then he let the magic go. _

\--:--:--:--:--

“-Stiles!”

And suddenly Stiles was jerking awake in his familiar bed, a human-shaped Derek pinning him down. It was still too dark to make out any sort of expression, but Stiles could practically feel the concern radiating off of Derek.

“It’s okay. I’m back.” The words came out breathless and ragged, liked he’d screamed himself hoarse. Judging from the state of the sheet and the missing duvet, he’d also thrashed around quite a bit.

Despite the reassurance, Derek didn’t let go, keeping a firm grip on Stiles’ arms and Stiles was grateful for the contact. He took a moment to center himself, slowly uncurling his fingers from where they were gripping the selenite charm so tightly he could feel the crystal edges biting into his skin.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the lingering sense of fear and resignation from his mind. Derek waited patiently, irises bleeding red around the edges.

When Stiles finally caught his breath and willed his limbs to stop shaking, Derek had manhandled them both onto their sides, Stiles’ head tucked under his chin, their legs twined together, and both arms wrapped around him so tightly, Stiles no longer felt like he was going to shatter.

“This is what you’re working on?” Derek murmured into his hair, one arm loosening enough to trail fingers up and down Stiles’ spine.

Stiles shrugged helplessly, face still buried against Derek’s throat. Somehow, no matter how hard Stiles tried to keep something from him, Derek always managed to put the pieces together.

“You’re having premonitions, right? Like Lydia’s?” Derek pulled away so he could see Stiles’ face. “And you can’t tell me because I’m in them.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles winced as his voice broke on the whisper.

“No, that’s not…” Derek traced over the notches in his spine, soothing Stiles’ nerves even more effectively than his mother’s charm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand.”

Stiles blinked, not knowing  _ how _ he could possibly understand. Werewolves weren’t trained in magic. They had no affinity for it. His mother always said only one spark could exist inside a person at a time.

As if reading his thoughts, Derek nosed along his temple and said, “I do listen when you talk, you know.”

Stiles almost laughed, knowing that Derek was doing his best to force a lighter mood. But his brain was overwhelmed trying to process everything. First, there was the vision, so much more intense than any he’d ever had before. Then he woke up to Derek, calming his frantic mind and making him feel safer than he’d ever felt. All while neither of them was wearing much at all. It was just a lot to take in.

“Can you stay? Like this?”

They had only ever shared a bed while Derek was in wolf-form, acting as a heat source and keeping Stiles grounded during lonely nights. And he was always gone by the time the weak morning light filtered through the loft window.

“Of course,” Derek said, without hesitating. He pressed his lips to Stiles’ temple, pulling him close again.

Stiles relaxed into the hold, relieved. Then, he remembered their state of undress and felt his cheeks heat. “You can borrow clothes. If you want.”

“Oh. Right.” Derek sounded surprised. As if he’d only just realized he was naked. “Sorry, is it making you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s just…” Stiles made a noise of protest as Derek tried to disentangle himself from both Stiles and the rucked sheet. “Um. Improper?”

His uncertain tone made Derek pause, perched on the edge of the bed. Then he simply straightened the sheet, tugging it over them both as he settled back against Stiles.

“Fuck propriety.”

Stiles shivered at the low growl, then waggled his eyebrows. “I like how you think.”

Derek huffed, amused either by his expression or his tone or perhaps both. Stiles wasn’t sure how much an alpha werewolf could see in the dark, but he knew his point got across.

“Rest now. We can discuss that in the morning.”

And the last tension drained from Stiles’ body, knowing that Derek would still be there when he woke up. He dropped a final kiss to Derek’s neck, tucked himself closer and let sleep claim him.

\--:--:--:--:--

For the first time in months, Stiles woke gradually from a dreamless sleep. Eyes still closed he leaned closer to Derek, smiling as the hold around his middle tightened. Judging from Derek’s steady breathing, he was still asleep.

The thought struck an odd chord. Forcing his eyes open, Stiles focused on Derek’s face. His expression was easier to read in human form, and the openness there made Stiles’ chest tighten.

Slowly, so as not to wake his sleeping bedmate, Stiles extricated his arm from where it was pinned between them. He trailed careful fingers across Derek’s softened brow, his heart stumbling when Derek scrunched his nose. Stiles honestly didn’t think he could love this man any more than he already did. But he was wrong.

It didn’t take long for Derek to slip awake. Stiles watched the change cross his face, turning from peaceful to world-weary between one breath and the next.

But then Derek’s eyes locked on his, sunlight turning his irises to liquid jade and he smiled, erasing some of the tension. Stiles felt his breath catch, unable to look away. He wanted to wake up like this every morning.

Derek distracted him from that thought by rolling onto his back, stretching out his legs and cracking his back. Stiles followed willingly, using his new vantage point to trace along Derek’s jaw, down his throat, across his shoulders.

“You’re quiet in the morning,” Derek said, voice still rough from sleep. “I didn’t expect that.”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m thinking. It’s hard to multitask first thing.”

“Thinking about…?”

After a few seconds of trying to parse out the different directions his thoughts had gone, Stiles gave up. “Thinking about everything. Or maybe nothing. It’s hard to say.”

Derek hummed, still looking soft and sleep-rumpled. It was distracting.

But then he was wrapping both arms around Stiles and dragging him down for a heated kiss. It was a little uncoordinated, but when Stiles finally had to breathe, they were both smiling like fools.

“I should go,” Derek said, but made no move to do so.

Stiles sank deeper into the mattress, luxuriating in the feeling of the sun spilling over his skin. “I have a business to run.”

Derek snorted. “How’s that going?”

He tempered the teasing words with a kiss and Stiles knew his answering grin was blissed out. Possibly bordering on dopey.

“I can give myself the day off.” Stiles pushed himself onto his elbows, letting his fingertips drag once more over the contours of Derek’s face.

Derek leaned into the touch and then sighed. “I wish I had that luxury.”

The admission managed to break their peaceful bubble. Stiles rolled back onto the mattress with a  _ thump _ , blocking out the sun with an arm thrown over his face. He’d forgotten that there was a reason he wasn’t living in the manor and waking up to Derek every morning.

“You should go.” He peeked out from under his arm, noticing the way Derek had stiffened beside him. “Not like that. I didn’t mean to be abrupt.”

Derek’s eyes found his, lips curling into a sad smile. “I know. I just forgot that this…” he trailed off, motioning between the two of them.

“Wasn’t normal?” Stiles finished, a touch bitter. “You and me both.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Derek sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. “I understand why you won’t tell me what exactly is going on. And I think I understand why you won’t say yes. But let me know if there  _ is _ anything I can do. Anything at all.”

“Why?” the word was out in the open before Stiles knew he was going to say it.

Derek looked like he was going to scoff, but instead met Stiles’ eyes. “Because I love you.”

Which, intellectually, Stiles knew that. After all, no one else would be as patient or trusting if Stiles yanked them around. But this was the first time Derek had said it out loud and Stiles felt overwhelmed.

The sound of paws hitting the floor pulled him back to the present and he turned in time to see the black wolf nose open the window and scramble out in a way that still managed to be graceful. Stiles flopped back onto the tangled sheets and allowed himself a bit longer to gather his thoughts.

By some stroke of luck, Stiles had just finished tugging a clean shirt over his head when his wards alerted him to a newcomer. He smoothed down his damp hair before climbing down the ladder and making himself look busy.

He was carefully clipping sprigs of mint when Grandma Boyd bustled into the shop. Stiles couldn’t help the wide smile he sent her way, putting aside the gathered leaves for drying.

“How is my favorite customer this morning?”

“Psssh. Don’t flatter me, young man.” Grandma Boyd set a package wrapped in brown paper on the work table. “Morning started before the sun came up. It’s practically afternoon.”

Stiles laughed. “I suppose it is.”

Bakers rose at obscene hours and the Boyd’s were no different. Although Grandma Boyd claimed to be retired, Stiles still came across her in the bakery more often than not.

“What can I help you with?”

“The market was out of fennel seeds, so I figured I’d pay you a visit.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Stiles surveyed his shelves, selecting two small glass jars.

He handed them over, letting Grandma Boyd inspect each one carefully. Once satisfied, she tucked them away into her bag. “Vernon and Alicia say hello. And this is for you.” She tapped the package.

Stiles could already smell the fresh bread and his stomach was quick to remind him that he hadn’t eaten yet. “I’ll consider it an even trade.” He tipped her another smile. “Send my regards to your grandchildren. And Erica.”

“Stop in next time you’re in town. I’ll make sure you get some of this fennel too.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Stiles held the door for her, waving when she turned back at the crest of the ridge.

Stiles ended up devouring almost an entire loaf of bread, along with some of the brown eggs he’d collected from the hen coop. He worked as he ate, absently weaving strips of leather into a complicated looking pattern. The slight spacing of the knots made the finished product perfect to hold a luck charm.

This piece, in particular, was one of two matching bracelets that had been commissioned by Isaac. Stiles was fairly certain they were going to be a wedding gift for Erica and Boyd. Stiles pushed aside his plate, pausing in his weaving to inspect the design.

He was so focused, he missed the buzz of the ward and almost fell out of his chair when the door slammed open.

“Seriously Erica?” He contemplated hiding his work but figured that would be more suspicious than just sitting back and glaring.

She dropped down into the chair across from him, grinning at his annoyance. “Don’t you have magic to let you know when people are coming?”

“It’s about intent! You’re not here to rob me, so it’s not as noticeable.”

Erica looked thoughtful. “But what if I decided to rob you  _ after  _ I passed through your traps?”

Shaking his head, Stiles got to his feet. They could speculate all day, but at this rate, he probably wouldn’t be able to focus on his hands while the gift’s potential recipient sat in the same room. He put the mostly finished bracelet back into its pouch and set it on the workbench before turning back to Erica.

“What can I do for you?”

She immediately straightened, face going serious. “I was hoping you had some information.”

So not a fun visit. And the captain of the watch would only come to him with bad news.

“Our patrol this morning found the scent of unfamiliar wolves along the northern border.”

“The  _ Argent _ border?” That couldn’t be right. The extremist part of the family was culled after Stiles’ dad had traced the cause of the Hale fire back to the former Lord Argent and his daughter. “But Chris-”

Erica shook her head. “Lord Argent isn’t involved. The scent was on our side of the border. Following along the patrol loop almost exactly.”

“Did your watchmen notice anything else?” There was an itching in the back of Stiles’ brain, as if he had all the pieces and just hadn’t put them together yet.

“They also reported an unnatural smell they described was ‘as if something magical had rotted’ but in more colorful terms.”

Everything snapped into focus and Stiles froze. “Have you been there?”

“Yes. And I can confirm. It is quite…” Erica made a face as she remembered, “unpleasant.”

Stiles nodded, remembering the dragging feeling of the darkness. The dread began to settle, cold and heavy in his gut. He’d thought he had more time.

“Can you take me there?”

“Sure.” Erica unfolded herself from her seat. “We’ve gone over every inch of the woods, but nothing is out of place.”

“If it is what I think it is, you won’t be able to see it.”

Erica stopped in the doorway, looking authoritative. Like the captain that she was. “Are we going to need backup?”

“No. This isn’t something you can fight with swords or claws.” Plus, Stiles didn’t want any of his friends in danger when he  _ still _ didn’t understand what it was that he was dealing with. “It’s magic. Very bad magic.”

She cocked her head as if listening. “Do  _ you _ need backup?”

“There’s no one else to ask.” His mother had been the only other witch in the village. Deaton dabbled a bit, but he was a druid and, as such, was honor bound to keep the balance.

Stiles didn’t have the same kind of tie to the land. He traded his soft house shoes for thick-soled boots and squared his shoulders.

Erica watched him for a moment more, before nodding once. “Let’s go.”

Pausing, Stiles grabbed the black stone from where it was still on the table. He slid it into his pocket and felt some of the trepidation fade.


	3. Chapter 3

Unlike in his visions, the woods looked deceptively normal as he followed Erica down the path worn in the underbrush. Stiles was on high alert, one hand wrapped around the stone in his pocket to keep himself grounded. As they approached the border, Erica grew increasingly agitated.

“Is it the smell?” Stiles asked, barely containing a shudder at the feel of dark magic growing heavier the further they progressed.

Erica shook her head, signaling at Stiles to stop. He froze in his tracks, focusing instead on the unfamiliar presence in trees. The Hale lands weren’t large and, as far as Stiles knew, he and Deaton were the only ones with an affinity for magic. And he would recognize Deaton’s mark even if he wasn’t quite as familiar with the druid’s methods as his own.

Then Erica was growling, face distorting into her beta shift. Stiles stared as she leaped at empty air, rolling to her feet in confusion.

“What-” Stiles choked as he felt something brush against his leg. “What the hell?”

Erica turned, fangs retracting. “Wolves. But they’re not actually here?”

“Hold on.” Stiles held out a hand, waiting until he felt fur beneath his fingertips. He recognized the feeling and the wolf beside him felt solid. But Erica couldn’t touch them. Brain sifting through information, Stiles winced as something nudged his other side. Two wolves. One slightly smaller than the other. He dropped his other hand to the other wolf and, as soon as his skin made contact, everything  _ shifted _ .

Distantly, he heard Erica yelling. But now he could see his other companions, two full-shifted Hale wolves. Stiles felt his heart stop. There had been two bodies missing after the fire. Two people who were supposedly not in the manor while it burned; yet they had never returned.

“Cora?” he asked, trying to keep his hands in place as the smaller wolf shoved at him in acknowledgment. Which meant the other was, “Laura?”

He looked away from the wolves, taking in his surroundings. This was the forest from his vision, a darker mirror of the Hale lands. “What is this place?”

Instead of answering Laura caught his wrist in her teeth, careful of his fragile skin. Once he realized she was trying to lead him somewhere, Stiles took a deep breath to slow his heart. Getting eaten by a wolf, even if they were a former friend, was not high on his list of things to do.

The clearing was vaguely familiar. Stiles frowned, wondering at the importance before he remembered visiting years ago. With his mother. And this clearing was slightly different.

“That’s the Nemeton, isn’t it.” He looked at the massive tree, so different from the rotting stump in his reality. “Is that what’s keeping you here?”

Stiles took the dual headbutts as affirmation. The tree itself didn’t feel evil, yet it seemed the dark magic was originating from within.

“I need…” as if reading his mind, Laura dropped his wrist and his reality came rushing back.

Stiles blinked, disoriented. He could still feel Cora pressed against his side. Perhaps it took them both to help him move between the two planes of reality. Which was a concept he was still having difficulty wrapping his head around. Alternate dimensions, the possibility of different universes. Lydia would have a field day.

A howl nearby snapped him back to attention. The remains of the Nemeton were in front of him, and Stiles stumbled forward, like a pin drawn to a magnet. Crashing in the underbrush signaled Erica’s arrival.

“What the fuck was that? You teleport now?”

Stiles brushed aside the questions, brain already working to piece together what was happening. “They thought Kate Argent had an accomplice, right?”

Erica paced. “Why? Is this related? What’s going on?”

“The wolves. Cora and Laura. They’re trapped somehow. By the Nemeton.” Stiles looked toward the tree, suddenly aware of the fact that the wolf beside him no longer felt as solid as before.

“Your dad always thought it was fishy. She would have needed a powerful magic user to pull off a barrier like she did.”

Stiles dropped to his knees near the Nemeton’s roots. “But they never found the other person. Mom said the magic was unlike anything she’d ever felt.” It was also right before she died, and many of her thoughts were starting to tangle.

“Deaton agreed and spouted some nonsense about the tree being connected to the Hale pack which is why it ended up,” she gestured at the stump. “Well, why it ended up like that.”

Reaching out, Stiles’ hand caught empty air. “No. No no no no. I need more time.”

“The pack is coming,” Erica said, trying to sound reassuring even though Stiles knew she was freaking out.  

“This isn’t something claws can fix.” Stiles chewed his lip, pulling out the black stone and willing himself to  _ focus _ . “Maybe the magic user was trying to use the Hales as a sort of sacrifice? To bend the will of the Nemeton?”

That sounded legit. Like something Deaton would hint at while talking around the actual point, always bringing the conversation back to balance.

“So the spell somehow backfired, obliterated the magic user and the backlash disturbed the balance enough to trap Cora and Laura too?”

Erica tensed, hand coming down to land on Stiles’ shoulder. She probably heard the pack.

“And now something upset the balance again. So, we have to do something to fix it. Preferably with Cora and Laura on  _ this _ side of things.” Stiles had a sick feeling he knew what the tree needed.

He felt one of the wolves close by and imagined the feel of fur under each hand. Then he was transported back to the darker clearing, Laura lying on one side and Cora on the other.

“We don’t have a lot of time, do we?”

Laura huffed, which Stiles took as confirmation.

The sinking feeling in his chest settled solidly, making it hard to breathe. “Okay. If you make it out, you need to tell Derek that I’m sorry.”

Cora nudged his hand, and Stiles realized he could let go of the wolves without returning to his reality.

“That’s probably not a good sign.” He turned, and, for an instant, it was like seeing double – one reality overlying the other.

A howl split the syrupy gloom, clearing Stiles’ mind for a moment. It wasn’t enough to dispel the sense of terror and sick anticipation.

This was it. The outcome that he had fought so hard to avoid. And yet, there wasn’t anything he could have done differently. The pieces were set in motion almost half a decade before the visions started.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles gripped the heavy stone more tightly. He could feel Derek somewhere nearby, trying to get to him. Laura and Cora stood at his shoulders, lending support in the best way they could.

Mind made up, Stiles let the stone fall to the ground. He wouldn’t need it anymore. His magic was weak, compared to the force that was required to stabilize the Nemeton. No focus item would be able to help.

He crouched on the ground and dug his fingers into the earth, feeling for the epicenter of the darkness. His spark sought out the heart of the Nemeton automatically, the dark magic spreading through the roots like a disease.

It tore at him, trying to extinguish the warmth of his magic. But Stiles was ready. He fanned the small flame of his spark, willing it to burn brighter, stronger, before pushing it outward and feeling it catch against the evil.

He held on for a moment longer, straining against the growing inferno of his spark and trying hard not to think of his dad. Or of Scott, Melissa, Lydia, Kira, Allison, the pack. But he especially tried – and failed – not to think of Derek.

Then he let the magic go.

\--:--:--:--:--

The noises were agonizing, each harsh breath a stabbing pain through his skull and the quiet drone underneath a constant throb. He might have blacked out again, but by the time he dragged his eyes opened, the pain had subsided to a bone-deep ache stretching across his entire body.

Turning his head on the pillow, the window swam into focus. Familiar trees brushed the sky beyond, and Stiles could have cried. He’d closed the breach between worlds and still managed to retain enough of his spark to keep him alive. The spark would heal itself eventually, but it was so intimately tied to his life force that if his spark were extinguished, he would be nothing more than a husk. A beating heart with no soul.

However, what was the point in realizing he’d accomplished something miraculous without having someone else to share it with? Stiles frowned at the empty chair beside his bed. It was one of the old wooden ones from downstairs, seat worn to a smooth curve by years of use.

Steeling his resolve, Stiles made to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. It was a move he had done every morning for as long as he could remember, but this time he barely managed to flop onto his side.

“Bad plan,” he gasped, curling in as if that could stop the excruciating daggers shooting through every muscle he possessed. “Fucking hell. Bad plan.”

“Stiles?”

There was a thud from downstairs as if someone had dropped a book. Stiles had enough brain cells unoccupied by screaming in pain to think it had better not be one of his books.

Feet stumbled up the ladder, Erica half launching herself into the loft. She didn’t come closer, perched on the top rung and staring like she’d seen a ghost.

Stiles huffed. “You watched me pull two people from a different plane of existence and  _ this _ is what gets you?” he said. Well, he tried to say. In reality, he managed some garbled sounds and then started hacking. Because his throat was suddenly drier than a desert.

“I’ll be right back.”

Then Erica was gone. Stiles didn’t know a lot about the bedside manner appropriate for a friend waking up from magical exhaustion, but he had a feeling it didn’t involve staring and running away. Maybe they didn’t expect him to wake up. Or maybe…

Slowly, Stiles lifted a hand to his face, dragging his stiff fingers across the bones and down his jawline. Luckily, his cheeks felt only slightly scruffy, so he probably hadn’t been sleeping for a hundred years. Unless hair growth slowed down while a person was comatose.

That thread of thought was interrupted by Erica reappearing with the water jug and a tray piled high with more food than had probably ever been in his cottage at once. Stiles smiled gratefully but didn’t try to sit up again. He’d learned his lesson.

Erica balanced the tray on the seat of the chair, setting the water jug on the floor. Then she perched on the edge of the bed and looked at Stiles uncertainly. She didn’t look older than the last time he’d seen her, which was a relief. She also wasn’t doing anything, which was not very Erica-like at all.

Maybe he was on the wrong side of the breach. Shit. But then Erica wouldn’t be here. Right? He didn’t know. Which is what he got for rushing into things without the proper research. Then again, he hadn’t expected pocket dimensions.

“Can-” Erica hesitated. “Is it alright if I help you sit up?”

Stiles nodded, too eagerly if the doubled pain in his head was anything to go by.

Once she had him upright, propped by an absurd number of pillows, Stiles reached toward the water jug.

Erica immediately complied, holding the jug steady and murmuring, “drink slowly, or you’ll get sick.”

He tried to follow her advice, but she pulled the jug back long before his throat was satisfied.

“You can have more later. And there’s food, but I don’t know what exactly you should or shouldn’t eat. Melissa will be here soon though so I’m sure-”

“Erica.” His voice held this time, effectively cutting off her nervous ramble. “What’s going on? What day is it? Did I end up on the wrong plane?”

Her mouth was open, words still half-formed on her lips and an expression of shock on her face. Then she crumpled, eyes shiny with tears. “Stiles?”

“Yeah?” he dragged the word out, still not sure what was happening. “Were you expecting someone else?”

The next thing he knew, he was being tackled back against the mountain of pillows and trying not to choke on a cloud of blonde hair. “We thought you… Deaton said… and then you were awake but not talking-”

Stiles pieced together enough to ask, “You thought my spark was gone?”

Erica nodded against his chest and Stiles had no option but to cling back just as tight. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Their proximity meant Stiles knew the exact moment she sensed people approaching. He could feel the weak thrum of his wards and smiled. His spark really was coming back.

“Brace yourself,” Erica warned. “They must’ve felt you wake up.”

Stiles straightened up, already feeling stronger. Then he paused, looking at the bed. “Where did all of these pillows come from?”

The front door slammed open as Erica started laughing. There was a loud scuffle at the bottom of the ladder, then Scott was wiggling into the loft, closely tailed by Isaac and Boyd. They made an amusing picture, crammed into the tiny space.

Stiles patted the bed beside him. “Have at it.”

Scott burrowed into his side immediately, followed by Boyd who managed to curl around them both while setting one hand at the back of Stiles’ neck and linking the other with Erica’s. Isaac clabbered onto the foot of the bed, pillowing his head on Boyd’s calves and casually resting an arm over Stiles’ shins.

Allison and Lydia tumbled in next, with Lydia barely keeping her composure. She squeezed into the tiny space between Stiles and the edge of the bed, tucking herself under his arm and shifting, so Erica was sprawled over the both of them. Allison smiled at the mass of limbs before moving the tray of food to the dressing table and claiming the chair.

Stiles was about ready to drift off again when a hesitant voice asked, “Is it strong enough to hold us all?”

Lydia huffed against his neck. “Yes. The floor to this loft is reinforced to the point that the Great Dragon herself could level the entire territory and the only thing left standing would be this cottage.”

That was apparently good enough for Kira, who perched at the end of the bed, wedging into the bend of Isaac’s knees. “Your dad is on his way. Melissa went to get him.”

Stiles hummed, content. His pack was here, his dad and Mel were coming. Really, there was only one thing that was missing. Confused, he looked over the pack, trying to find the familiar dark hair.

“Where’s Derek?”

Surprisingly, it was Allison who answered. “He’s being obtuse.” Her voice was pitched to carry, so he was at least within hearing distance. Stiles relaxed, momentary distress vanishing.

“If this is about me being on your side of the bed, it wasn’t my fault. Erica decided to become some sort of mutant were-limpet.”

Erica poked him in the belly, making him jolt and snicker while Lydia grumbled at almost being dislodged.

“Wait!” Stiles probably would have flailed out of bed if not for the pack pinning him down. “Laura and Cora. They’re okay right?” What if that was the reason Derek didn’t want to talk to him.

“Hey.” Scott wormed his arm around Stiles’ back so he could squeeze him tight. “They’re fine. Cora’s trying to talk Derek into coming in. Laura already gave up.”

Stiles squirmed a bit before relaxing into Scott’s hold. “Any other revelations to make? They’re exhausting.”

“Well, you’ve been sleeping for almost a month,” Isaac offered. The taunting landed flat. Mostly because it sounded too much like relief.

“What? Did you miss me?” Stiles fired back, then actually processed what he’d said. “A month?” Yeah, that was definitely a revelation. “No wonder I’m starving.”

Everyone laughed, almost covering the sound of his dad and Melissa coming into the cottage.

“Stiles?” his dad called, before even starting up the ladder.

“Yeah, I’m here.” And Stiles didn’t need to see his face to know how much his voice reassured him. “I’d get up, but I’m kind of buried right now.”

Allison quickly vacated the chair, allowing his dad to collapse into it, already reaching for Stiles’ hand.

“You’re not allowed to do that again.”

Stiles nodded feeling a little misty-eyed, then shoved lightly at Erica. “Let me up. This moment needs hugs.”

Erica obliged, rolling over on top of Scott, who immediately started complaining about her sharp knees and elbows. Lydia somehow managed to get off the bed gracefully, hauling Stiles up with her as she went. Which Stiles was eternally grateful for, since sleeping for a month did not do anything good for his abdominal muscles.

He was shaky on his feet, but that hardly mattered when his dad took the final step between them and held him tight enough Stiles was sure his bones bent. But that was okay because Stiles had been a terrible son and almost left his dad all alone. Well with Melissa and Scott, but still.

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to leave us,” his dad said because, apparently, Stiles’ brain wasn’t doing a good job of keeping his internal thoughts internal. “You’re just too damn noble for your own good.”

Stiles broke down then, barely noticing when Melissa started ushering everyone else down the ladder, saying something about too much excitement for one day. Which was probably true because Stiles felt exhausted.

When his dad finally let him go, Stiles reached for the tray. “Can I eat now?”

His dad laughed, helping him get settled on the bed. The mountain of pillows had all been taken back by their owners because his packmates were ridiculous and wanted to scent mark him even while he was sleeping. It was definitely weird, but also kind of touching. He knew how comforting scent was to the wolves and they’d tried to share that same comfort with him.

But Stiles was quickly distracted from sappy thoughts when his dad set the entire tray of food on his lap.

“Eat slowly, or-”

“Or I’ll get sick. I got it.” Stiles shoved a chunk of bread into his mouth, smiling when he tasted fennel.

After watching him for a moment, his dad leaned back and looked out the window.

“Deaton said something about the ley lines shifting just enough to throw the Nemeton out of equilibrium. It brought the last spellcaster’s magic to the surface.” His dad glanced over at him. “Erica told me your theory about Kate Argent’s accomplice. It turns out a known Darach went missing around the same time, and messing with ley lines and nemeta is exactly what a twisted druid specializes in.”

Stiles set down the piece of cheese in his hand. “But how did Laura and Cora end up  _ there _ .” Which reminded him, he still needed to pick Lydia’s brain about the different realities.

“Apparently their wolves were what stabilized the Nemeton after the Darach’s spell backfired.”

“Okay. But then why did it only take my spark, or most of it anyway, to work this time?”

His dad sighed. “That’s more Deaton’s area of expertise than mine, son. But it sounded like it wasn’t trading a spark for a spark so much as the willingness of your,” he hesitated, grimacing slightly, “sacrifice canceled out the evil from the Darach’s magic, and the Nemeton is stable again.”

Stiles chewed slowly, working through the new information and matching it up to what he remembered from that night. “So will the tree grow back?”

“According to Deaton, the tree is just as healthy as it was before the fire.”

“Huh.” Stiles pushed the tray away, stomach feeling uncomfortably tight.

His dad took it, then paused, looking out the window again.

“You know what, I think I’m going to head home with Melissa,” he said, not even facing Stiles. “And Lord Hale can come sit with you tonight, instead of standing outside.”

Stiles snorted, ignoring the nerves jittering down his spine. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, probably tomorrow morning.” Stiles’ dad turned to face him, juggling the tray to clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Covering the hand with his own, Stiles nodded. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Then Stiles had nothing to do but listen to the soft voices of Melissa and his dad downstairs, eventually letting themselves out after everything was cleaned up. The sky began to change, gradually bleeding into muted purples and dark blues, and it felt like an eternity before the door opened again.

Stiles pushed himself upright. “Derek.”

There was a quiet step at the foot of the ladder, then Derek’s head appeared. They stared at each other, minutes dragging together until Stiles lost patience.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, unsettled by the blank look on Derek’s face.

The words seemed to startle him into action, clambering the rest of the way up the ladder. He glanced quickly between the chair and the empty space in the bed, before dropping down into the seat his dad had vacated. Stiles blinked, feeling oddly disappointed at the choice.

But then Derek smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re still on my side.”

“You know what, I take it back,” Stiles said, grinning back helplessly. “I didn’t miss you at all.”

“Well, I mean it’s hard to miss someone while you’re sleeping.”

Laughing still hurt, but seeing Derek so carefree steadied something in Stiles’ chest. He shuffled over, leaving enough space for Derek to have his side of the bed.

“And I thought Erica was a were-limpet,” Stiles said, yelping as Derek deliberately dragged his stubble over a ticklish spot.

They fell quiet, Stiles weaving his fingers through Derek’s where they rested on his stomach. It was a welcome calm, leaving Stiles feeling relaxed for the first time since the fateful day when Derek’s proposal had coincided with his first vision.

Lips brushed over Stiles’ ear, and Derek murmured, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Stiles held back the flippant response and turned his head for a kiss. When he pulled back, the fading light cast deep shadows over Derek’s face.

“I’m sorry I thought us getting married was the spill point for the visions.”

Derek was shaking his head before Stiles finished. “No. I’m glad we waited.”

“Really?” Stiles twisted back, trying to see what Derek’s eyebrows were doing. Werewolves had heartbeats to alert them to untruths, but Stiles had learned to rely on other tells.

“Yes, really.” Derek loosened his hold so that Stiles could face him. “Now I get to have both of my sisters at my wedding.”

Which was perfect, actually. Derek deserved everything good in the world and having his sisters back would go a long way in easing some of the guilt he carried. Then Stiles froze, realization crashing over him.

“What?” Something – a trip in his heartbeat, a scent – must have given his thought away.

“Marry me. And move in with me,” Stiles blurted, wincing at his own phrasing. “Only if you want to, sorry my thought process is still out of order.”

Derek blinked in surprise, then the realization hit him too. He could be free from his position as head of the Hale line, if he wanted. Laura wouldn’t contest him, but she was the one who’d grown up trailing after his mother, learning how to lead.

“Yes,” he said, as soon as he reached the same outcome Stiles had. “To both.”

It was difficult to kiss while smiling so widely, but somehow they made it work.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr!! [Author](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/) | [Artist](https://rozurashii.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Those Who Wait [Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333999) by [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/pseuds/rozurashii)




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